


Alone Among the Wreck

by Rydia (ungarmax)



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Depression, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2821181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ungarmax/pseuds/Rydia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zack Fair is probably the strangest person you have ever met, but he <i>likes</i> you.  You absolutely cannot fathom why--here is a guy who has everything.  He is a first class SOLDIER.  He's funny.  He's attractive.  He probably has at least 19 girlfriends.  He even has a cool sword.  Why would he give two shits about somebody like you?</p><p>You are ridiculously jealous of him and want to be his best friend, all at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone Among the Wreck

**Author's Note:**

> This is likely not canon compliant, mostly because I haven't finished Crisis Core yet. SHRUG.
> 
> Anyway, this features transman!Cloud, but before he really knows what's up. The idea that his friendship with Zack is what helps him figure himself out. Mind the tags, friends. Cloud's life has not been a happy one.

Two months ago, you had marched out of Nibelheim with your head held high, and you had never looked back. You had made sure to say goodbye to your mom inside so that she didn't come outside with you. That way you had nothing to look back on, nothing left to stay for. You had decided it was symbolic. You were leaving that old life behind and moving into a new one. Everything would be different, you had thought as you proudly boarded that crowded transport with your single pack of belongings clutched to your chest. Everything would be _better_.

Once you arrived in Junon, you had visited the first shop you saw and bought a scissors and an ace bandage. As you hacked off your hair in the unisex bathroom mirror and sucked in your breath and smoothed your shirt, you thought about new beginnings. The old Cloud was gone, and the new one was here. The new Cloud, who was going to be the best there was, who wasn't going to be a disappointment, who people would admire but also fear. You were going to be in SOLDIER. And not just in it, you were going to be first class.

And then you let your breath out in a whoosh and you were still that scrawny brat that didn't deserve shit, only now you had a terrible haircut and it was a little hard to breathe. You were reasonably convinced that you would never make it, because look at you, you pathetic little shit. (These thoughts were spoken in your dad's voice, which you only sort of remember, and that pissed you off.)

Then the store clerk had said, “Are you all right in there, miss?” and you'd given him a black eye for it and gotten thrown out of the store.

Two months ago, you'd marched into the Shinra army base in Junon and told the receptionist that you were there to enlist. She was chewing gum and very obviously disinterested in your existence, but she did tell you the important detail that HQ had moved to Midgar now, and you'd have to go there to enlist. When you asked her how you'd get there, she rolled her eyes and said, “I don't know, maybe try the trains?”

And so you'd spent the very last of your 'in case of emergencies' money to buy a train ticket to Midgar. You'd sat on the packed third class car between a lady who mumbled to herself the whole way there and a drunk man who made you nervous because he smelled the way your dad did on the bad days, but he ended up sleeping the entire time you sat by him.

(That was the way your dad had smelled the last time you ever saw him. That night, you'd woken up lying on the Lockhearts' sofa with Tifa's mom putting ice on your head and Tifa peeping down at you from the top of the stairs. You could hear someone yelling outside, but after a while, Mr. Lockheart and your mom had come in, and your mom was crying but she picked you up and hugged you and said, “It's safe to come home now, sweetie,” which you knew even then meant your dad wasn't there. He wasn't, and he never was again. When you'd asked your mom about it, she said he was sick and he wouldn't be able to come home anymore. You had been sad but also kind of relieved.)

But you had made it. You were kind of dirty and very tired and hungry, but you were there, in Midgar, staring up at the terrifying height of the Shinra building. You had been nervous about the physical, but they'd just written down your height and weight and checked your eyes and ears and then sent you to your dorm with two uniforms. You shared a room with four boys about your age. You were taller than all of them and your voice didn't crack the way theirs did. That made you angry too.

(You had to share the bathroom, but it had a lock on the door, thank god. After a shower, you would glare at your disgusting reflection in the mirror and mark yourself with a razor blade, one bloody line for each thing you hated about yourself.)

For two months, you had put on that uniform every morning, had dutifully attended drills, had shot at cardboard targets, had run through obstacle courses. You did it all because you had to be the best. Only the best got to be in SOLDIER, and you were not going to settle for anything less. Your roommates called you a kiss up and a teacher's pet and other things, and you'd gotten into numerous fights with them. They usually won, because they ganged up on you, but that didn't really matter.

Two months you were there, and you'd never even gotten to meet a SOLDIER. You got assigned to guard duty, to boring patrols, to whatever, because your drill instructors knew you wouldn't bitch about it. You sent half of your paychecks to your mom, even though you knew exactly how she was going to use them, and squirreled the rest away in an old envelope under your mattress to save up for an off-campus apartment. As a recruit, you weren't allowed to live off of the grounds, but when you made SOLDIER, then you could live wherever you wanted.

Two months of hard work, and it had paid off. Even though the war was over, even though most of the recruits got boring guard duty and hardly left the base anymore unless they were going to be stationed somewhere, you were going on an assignment. It was a shit assignment, and you knew it, but you were going to Modeoheim. One of your roommates asked you if you had sucked Tseng's dick for that assignment, since that was the only way a scrawny, useless shit like you would get put on assignment, and you had knocked out three of his teeth.

You're taking a helicopter there, and you're nervous about it because you know you're going to get sick, and you've never flown before, and you are going to be accompanied by a first class. You've never heard of the guy on assignment with you, but the other infantryman escort, a man ten years your senior named Wilson, leans close to you and tells you about how lucky you and him are to be paired with Zack Fair. Apparently, he's a lot nicer than most other firsts.

You decide you don't like him the first time you see him. He's tall and tan, with marvelous blue eyes and a grin that lights up the entire room. His well defined muscles show even under his tank top, and he's content enough to tuck his hands behind his head and hum to himself as the helicopter rises into the air. He cheerfully fiddles with his phone for a bit. He chats with Tseng amicably for a while. He abruptly stands up and does six squats in the middle of the helicopter for no apparent reason.

“Man, I hate flying,” he grumbles as he hits his head on the roof.

He is an idiot, you think. But that idiot is a first class SOLDIER, and you are not.

That's actually probably why you don't like him. God, you're an idiot too. Maybe you have a chance of doing this thing after all.

“Hey, how much longer?” Now he's turned around, bugging Tseng, who is trying to fly the damn thing.

You stare out the window and try to ignore him, try to keep your lunch where it belongs, try to not be so fucking nervous about this. You're going to screw everything up and you know it.

The helicopter hits turbulence. You close your eyes and squeeze your gloved hands around the bag you have between your knees, just in case. Your fellow infantryman pats your shoulder understandingly and mutters something about getting it. Just a little bit longer, Strife. You'll be fine.

\--

Later on, you're not sure if the helicopter got shot down by rebels or if the blizzard was just too much because of the noises echoing in your head, but either way, it is currently a flaming wreck on the side of the mountain. You are half relieved to be off of that goddamn thing, and half frozen. Any other emotions you might have are gone because holy shit, is it cold.

Way up in the mountains of Nibelheim, the weather got cold enough to snow, but down in the valley, where the little town was situated, temperatures cold enough for snow were unheard of. You wish really hard that you had long sleeves and sent mental hate vibes at whomever designed this horrible uniform. Then you get up out of the snow, brush yourself off, and brace yourself for the long walk ahead of you. You are briefly grateful for how numb everything is, because you're pretty sure this would hurt a whole lot more if you weren't.

You keep pace with the SOLDIER because you can, and you have to be brave and tough and not mind a little bit of snow if you're going to be in SOLDIER. (You're not, you're terrible at everything, you'll never fucking make it, you piece of trash.) He's a country boy, that was what Tseng had said. You keep pace with him to prove to yourself that you can. You don't need mako showers to climb down a stupid mountain.

He pauses, turns, shouts something back at the other two, who are lagging far behind. He seems...no, not annoyed. He seems like a dog who is tugging at its leash because it wants to run around and be free to dash around as it pleases. Your SOLDIER is an overeager puppy, and Tseng is his leash.

In spite of yourself, you are kind of amused.

“At least someone's keeping up,” Zack comments, noting that you are matching him stride for stride.

It feels good to be acknowledged, and for a moment, you forget that you decided to hate him. “Well, I'm a country boy too,” you say, not looking at him in case he doesn't believe you.

“Yeah?” he comments. “From where?”

“Nibelheim,” you admit. He is unsurprisingly amused by that. “How about you?”

“Me?” he asks. “Gongaga.”

You have never heard of the place, but the name strikes you as amusing. You are suddenly very glad for this puppy tugging at his leash beside you. He's a first class SOLDIER, and he's from a place called _Gongaga_ of all things. You try to hide your snicker behind your hand, but he catches you.

“Hey! What's so funny about that?” he wants to know. “You know Gongaga?”

“No,” you admit, “but it's such a backwater name.”

He gives you a seriously offended look, and you find that you don't even care. “Ditto Nibelheim!” he protests, and stalks away ahead of you.

You roll your eyes, trotting along behind him. “Like you've ever been there,” you retort.

He forgets he was offended, or maybe he wasn't in the first place. You find yourself grasping at straws when it comes to understanding this guy. “I haven't,” he admits, “but there's a reactor there, right?” You nod, and he pauses where he is, standing in front of you. “A mako reactor outside of Midgar usually means...”

Oh, you've heard this one.

“...nothing else out there,” you finish at the same time he does.

He laughs, and then you laugh, and damn, you were supposed to hate this guy, weren't you? Except he's looking at you like you are the coolest asshole he's ever met, and it makes you feel ridiculously warm inside. When is the last time anybody besides your mom ever looked at you like they gave a shit about you?

Then the puppy is back out to play, his attention on something else. “Good news, Tseng!” he shouts down to where the other two are still lagging behind. “Me and...uh...”

He looks at you expectantly. He wants to know your name.

You pull off your helmet. “Cloud.”

“Me and Cloud here are both backwater experts!” He pumps a fist in the air. “Oh yeah!”

You can practically hear Tseng's eyes rolling from way over here. “Good,” he says. “Carry on then.”

Zack Fair is probably the strangest person you have ever met, but he _likes_ you. You absolutely cannot fathom why--here is a guy who has everything. He is a first class SOLDIER. He's funny. He's attractive. He probably has at least 19 girlfriends. He even has a cool sword. Why would he give two shits about somebody like you?

You are ridiculously jealous of him and want to be his best friend, all at the same time.

Not like it matters. You're all walking again by now, and by the time you get out of this shit situation, the puppy be onto his next thing, and you'll be somebody he forgets about in a day or two. That's all right. If somebody forgets about you, then it's your own damn fault for not being interesting enough to remember, the way you see it.

You let yourself wonder for a moment what it's like to be him. In some ways, he's your antithesis. He's strong where you are weak. He's brave where you are cowardly. He's excited about everything where you are mired in all this goddamn apathy. You wonder what it's like to have the world at your feet. You wonder what it's like to have strength, charisma, and confidence. You think it must be pretty great.

\--

You get your ass handed to you in Modeoheim, and Zack goes off by himself. When he comes back, he's carrying a sword that he did not have before, and he has Hollander in a choke hold. His cheek is bleeding, and he doesn't smile. He stands outside by himself while you and Tseng finish patching up the radio equipment and make sure Hollander isn't going anywhere. Wilson did not survive the encounter. His blood is smeared on the floor nearby from where you and Tseng had dragged him out front so you didn't have to look at him anymore but could still take him home with you.

Your rescue helicopter isn't coming for another few hours. Your ears are still ringing and your mouth feels dry. You realize that you're afraid. You've never seen anybody die before. There's nothing left for you to do here to keep your mind busy and not thinking about it, so you walk outside.

Zack is sitting cross-legged on the front step, underneath the porch roof. The snow has turned to bitter, frozen rain, and it clatters onto the walkway and surrounding buildings loudly. The huge sword rests across his knees, and he is polishing it with a rag. Slow, wide circles, to keep his hands busy, maybe. That sword belonged once to Angeal Hewley, you think. A man who was supposed to already be dead. He wasn't before, but you think this sword in Zack's hands means he probably is now.

You sit next to him. He doesn't say anything, but he does look up at you for a moment before going back to what he is doing.

“Tseng got the radio equipment working,” you say. “There's a rescue copter on the way.”

“Hm.” He doesn't really seem to be paying attention to you.

“Um...Zack?” You bite your lip, fidgeting your hands in your lap. You're still not sure how to talk to him, even though he seems completely at ease with you. “You...your cheek is bleeding.”

He blinks, reaches up, and touches his face. His fingers come away damp with blood. He stares at his fingers for a moment, looking confused and worried and upset, all at once.

You fumble around for a moment, searching through your pockets until you find a handkerchief. You press it to the X shaped cut on his cheek. It isn't a deep cut, but it will probably make for a cool looking scar someday. You gently wipe away the blood, but his hand catches yours when you start to pull it back.

“I ruined your hankie,” he says, looking at the blood stained cloth.

“It's okay. I have a bunch more back on base,” you say. “There's not much point in having them if you don't use them, right?”

“Let me buy you a new one when we get back,” he replies.

“It's not a big deal,” you insist, kind of embarrassed.

“Just--let me do this,” he says, looking at you with those incredibly bright eyes. They remind you of the sky over Nibelheim in the summer, and just for a moment, you feel a pang of homesickness. It is unwelcome and unfamiliar. Your new life might not be that great, but you don't miss your old one either.

You look away, because you don't want to think that things had been easier then. “Yeah, okay,” you tell him.

Silence falls between the two of you again. You are distinctly aware of his looming depression, because he's the kind of guy who wouldn't be able to hide that feeling if he tried. It's an all-encompassing sort of thing. It hangs off of his shoulders and drips down into a pool around his feet. You have trouble fathoming how different he is right now than he was on the walk down here. You remember how his happiness had just exuded out of him in a cloud, how that had made you happy too, and you think maybe his sadness isn't really all that different.

“Hey, uh,” you say, and then hate yourself. You just--you want him to feel better. You want to put a stopper in whatever is making him bow his head over that sword, methodically polishing its surface over and over. But now, you don't know what to say to fix anything, because you're just you, you're just a stupid little kid who doesn't know shit about anything.

But now you have his attention, and you can't back down now.

“...that sword is pretty sweet,” you finish lamely, but to your relief, he actually chuckles. It's a rueful chuckle, but it's something, at least.

“It is, isn't it?” he says, shifting it slightly to examine it. Then, abruptly, he's on his feet, sword balanced easily in one hand. He motions for you to get up. “You wanna hold it? You'll never hold another sword as fantastic as Buster, I can assure you of that.”

You reverently reach for the hilt, and he lets you have it. The minute he lets go, the enormous weight of the steel overbalances you, and with an embarrassingly high yip of surprise, you feel the blade hit the ground. You are pretty sure you have never been this mortified in your life, and it just gets worse when you try to pick up the blade again and can't fucking get it off the ground.

Zack laughs. He's laughing at you, he isn't angry, and the relief you feel is almost tangible. It's obvious that he loves his sword (or perhaps, its former owner), but he isn't angry that you let it fall and can't even lift it off the ground. If you were being honest with yourself, you were half expecting him to smack you upside the head for that move.

“Oh man, sorry, Cloud,” he grins. “I had to do that. Angeal did that to me when I was a quaking little third class in front my entire squadron. Okay, with a sword like Buster, it's all about balance. Shift your hands. Like this.”

He's reaching around you from behind, and your entire body stiffens as he adjusts your hands. You can feel the warmth radiating from his chest and arms against your body, his breath on your ear, and for a moment, you're afraid to move. He doesn't really dwarf you--he's taller than you, but only by a few inches--but you are as thin as a rail and he's built like a truck. You're not really paying attention to what he's telling you, and you force yourself to focus on your hands.

“So the right hand--you're right handed? Okay, cool. The right hand goes up here, just under this thing. And then with your left hand, you're going to hold it lower down like this,” he is saying. “Here's your counter balance. That way you can compensate for the weight of the blade. See?”

With his help, you lift the blade up in front of you, and you feel a rush of adrenaline. This is a SOLDIER's sword, in your grip (in his grip, mostly, but also yours).

“Okay, now you need a better stance,” he is saying, still hoisting the blade for you. “Feet apart--they're your base, right? Can't let them knock you over, so nice wide stance. Yeah, like that. Right foot forward, left foot back. You got it. Okay, I'm gonna let go. You ready?”

You're not ready, and you're going to drop it again like an idiot, but you nod anyway. Carefully, he removes his hands from the sword and steps back. And, for one moment, you realize you're actually holding the Buster sword. Your arms are trembling with the strain, but you're doing it. Zack lets out a whoop of glee behind you, and you can't help it when you start laughing.

“Okay, okay, take it back before I drop it again,” you said, smiling a bit, and he indulges you, grabbing the hilt with one hand and pulling it back. You are amazed by how effortless he makes it look. You know you're not exactly a weight lifter, but this guy is unbelievably strong.

That, you think to yourself as he holds the sword up without any apparent strain, is the power of someone good enough to make first class. It makes you sad when you realize just how far you have to go.

He holds up the sword for a moment, looking at it, and then lowers it. When he looks at you, there's that sadness in him again, but he smiles all the same. “You're going into SOLDIER, right?” he says. With his free hand, he reaches behind him and took the sword out of the sheath on his back. He flips it around and holds it out for you to take. “You might want to start with something a little more manageable,” he says.

You stare at the hilt for a moment and then hesitantly take it from his grasp. This one is much lighter--still heavier than it looks, but definitely something you could learn to use.

“That one's standard equip for second and third class,” he says. “When you make first, you'll be allowed to choose your own weapon to replace it, if you want. I never found anything I preferred, but...I think I'll use Buster from now on.”

“Wait, you're not _giving_ me this, are you?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“Well, yeah. You're going into SOLDIER anyway,” he replies, shrugging, “and I don't need it anymore.”

“But...I'm not...”

He looks at you. “You're not going into SOLDIER?” he asks, sounding surprised.

You let out a sigh. “You really think somebody like me is cut out for that?” you ask.

“Sure. Why not? I made it.” He shrugs. “So you should be able to too.”

“But you're--you're _amazing_ , you just, you cut down the monsters like they're nothing, and you're so _strong_ , and...”

You stop talking because he's laughing, and you feel your face turn red. You're being an idiot, and you need to shut your goddamn mouth.

“Cloud. Look. I wasn't _always_ good at killing stuff,” he says, and he puts a hand down on your shoulder. “I had someone to teach me how to fight, and I worked really damn hard to get strong. If you're willing to put in the effort, I don't see why you wouldn't make it.” He smiles in that way that makes part of you really warm inside, in spite of how cold it is.

You note that the smile is a little rueful, though, and you think that maybe it was Angeal who had been the one to teach him. Angeal, who used to own that sword, who had gone into the back of the bathhouse and had not come back out. It makes sense.

God, you don't deserve any of this, do you? This sword, this guy--a guy that fucking _Angeal Hewley_ trained up himself--giving you the time of day.

“Come on,” you say, looking down at the hilt of the sword. “What chance does a guy like me have? I can't...I'm not--”

“Cloud.”

You look up at him, swallowing a little against your dry throat. You don't understand why he keeps trying. You don't understand what he sees in you that he would give you this sword, that he'd help you with your stance, that he'd even bother talking to you.

But his face is genuinely curious, thoughtful, and resolute, and he's regarding you like you're actually worth something. You have no goddamn idea where he got that notion, but at the same time...well, it isn't exactly a bad feeling.

“Getting into SOLDIER is a lot of work,” he says thoughtfully, rubbing his jaw with one hand. “The exam is tough as shit, I'm not going to say it isn't. But...well, I don't know, if you're so damn sure you're going to fail walking into it, well, you're sort of sabotaging yourself, aren't you?”

Or saving yourself the trouble of having all your dreams crushed by knowing you're not going to make it to start with.

“What's your dream, Cloud?” he asks, when you don't respond. “Why'd you enlist?”

“To join SOLDIER,” you say, and you try to get yourself angry about it again, because that's the easiest way to have enthusiasm about it. You don't really manage. “To be first class.”

“If you want to be first class, you've gotta keep that dream,” he says, and then he reaches up and taps his chest twice with his gloved fist. “Keep it right here, in your heart, and don't ever lose sight of it. If you want to be a hero, you've got to have dreams.”

“A hero?” you murmur, turning the sword over in your hands. You never thought about it that way.

“Yeah. That's my dream,” he says, and he turns away from you. He sets up Buster against the wall leading into the building and swings his arms, squatting down, and then back up. Down, and up. “I learned today that I've got a long way to go before I get there.” Down. Up.

“What do you mean? You're first class. You're a hero,” you insist.

He shakes his head. Down. “I'm not.” Up. “The hero saves people. I can't save anybody. Not yet.” Down, up, down, up. “But I will, Cloud. You wait and see. I'm gonna be a real hero, and someday, I'm gonna save somebody and not let them down. You just wait.”

You believe him.

\--

After the rescue helicopter comes and you're sitting in the back next to Zack while Tseng watches Hollander, you take your last breath of fresh mountain air that you definitely do not miss from home and prepare for the undoubtedly shitty ride back to Midgar. Zack has a distant expression on his face, and he's balancing Buster precariously on his knee, since he can't wear it and sit down at the same time. 

You notice again that X shaped scab on his face. If that was on your face, you'd wear it like a badge of honor, you think. You'd show it off to everyone and make up some shit story about how you got it.

“Your cheek is going to look really badass once that scars,” you tell him.

He blinks at you in confusion for a moment, and then he touches his face and remembers. “Oh--yeah, I bet you're right,” he acknowledges. “What's it look like?”

“Like an X. You should like wear your hair back so people can see it better.”

He laughs, runs his fingers through the hair that falls over his cheek, pushing it back out of his face. “Like this?” he asks, grinning at you. “How's it look?”

He looks ridiculous, his black spikes even more unruly than normal, being shoved into the air by his fingers. You laugh--you can't quite help it. “Fantastic,” you tell him.

He lets go of his hair, and it falls back into his face and wherever else it wants to. “First thing I'm doing when we get back to Midgar is going to a barber and getting a new style,” he tells you. “Oh, yeah!” He pumps a fist into the air, and yep--there's that puppy dog again. “New hair, new scar, new sword, new friends, new beginnings.”

“New dreams,” you suggest, smiling back at him. Your own new sword is resting between your legs, the tip on the ground and the hilt resting between your fingers.

“New dreams,” he agrees, nodding.

He pats you on the shoulder then, and you think to yourself that maybe, just maybe, something good has come out of this after all.


End file.
